


Turn my secrets inside out

by crookedspoon



Series: Spicing up the Autumn 2017 [27]
Category: DC Cinematic Universe, DCU
Genre: Alliteration, Author's Favorite, Bad Ideas, Celebrity Crush, Community: comment_fic, F/F, POV Harley Quinn, Pining, Plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 06:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13208361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: Harley is haunted by the images of Wonder Woman that appear everywhere and decides to do something about her annoying crush.





	Turn my secrets inside out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkAliceLilith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAliceLilith/gifts).



> For "Dc Comics, Wonder Woman/Harley Quinn, my hero" at [comment-fic](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/757387.html?thread=99769483#t99769483) and "Smiles/Laughter" at Kinktober.
> 
> Okay, this got longer than intended. All I wanted was for Harley to moon over Wondy's smiles and that ending scene.

These days it's impossible to escape footage of Wonder Woman even if you tried. Harley's not going out of her way to do that just yet, but that doesn't mean she needs every other street vendor thrusting T-shirts with Wondy's likeness at her. They're not even _good_ likenesses, since they focus more on brand and brawn rather than whatever else makes her so compelling.

The dailies do a marginally better job of giving you a sense of what she's about – apart from beating up bad guys, of course. The grainy front page pictures may only be a tiny step above clothing items hawked in the shopping district, but the topics covered are as repetitive as the designs. 

It's as though every newspaper worth its salt has to print a story about her heroic deeds with each new issue, even if she hasn't been spotted saving the day since the last editorial.

That's not so bad.

The print media and the merchandise she could ignore. Avoid newsstands and busy districts. Easy. (Even though she used to get a kick out of reading about her own exploits in the papers.)

TVs are harder to avoid, especially when they're running in the windows of electronics stores to demonstrate just how sharp high definition can be.

Oh so very sharp.

Harley can practically count each flowing hair on Wondy's gorgeous head. (Harley wants to reach out and run her fingertips through those silky strands, wind them over and knuckles and take a whiff.) That is, if she weren't so dazzled every time Wondy flashes the camera a smile so gracious and accepting that Harley has to stop for breath or else faint from the overwhelming force of her fangirly feels. Wondy's eyes crinkle no matter how inane the question the interviewer would ask. She answers each of them in earnest, with the patience of a saint, or that of a trained PR person.

Harley finds she prefers the clips of her fighting evil and saving civilians to those of her reassuring bullied children or soothing the rescued victims of a terrorist attack. They all serve to paint a nuanced picture of the amazon, but Harley doesn't need any more reasons to reform herself. Never has turning tail on the life of crime she's led seemed more compelling.

It's like she wants to make Wondy proud of her and every image of her serves as a reminder, as if silently judging her to an impossible standard.

So that's another reason to favor the kick-butt sequences. Because they show her in action, almost too fast for the camera to catch up with, and don't focus on those smiles that'd put even the sun to shame. Or those shoulders. Those very naked, very _built_ shoulders. (Harley wants to touch those, too. So bad.)

(Goddangit, she's never been this compromised before in her _life._ If Wondy ever stopped Harley in the middle of a heist, she'd probably just drop down at a moment's notice and roll over, showing her belly. Perhaps now she's beginning to understand her puddin's obsessive need to get the Bat's attention. Except that the Bat's attention was easier to get, because all you had to do was threaten his homestead. Everybody knew that.)

(Wondy's a different case, however, one that ain't so readily cracked. But Harley loves hatching ideas, and setting those ideas in motion.)

She has it all figured out. The only way to grow out of her celebrity crush is for her to meet the person responsible for it. (People are generally larger than life on screen, and once they're face to face Harley's sure to become disenchanted with the real life Wonder Woman, the one who'd probably go on a tirade about Harley's life choices, and okay, maybe she's projecting here, but she's heard enough disappointed silences from Batman's end that she doesn't need another superhero to chip in, thank you very much.)

Anyway. The thing is, there's no way for her to run into America's greatest ally, bombshell, and righteous defender of rights at a superhero convention and get to shake her hand. Chances of being rescued during some freak alien invasion or exploding power plant were also pretty slim.

So Harley has to get creative.

In the end, she does what she does best: wreak some havoc. But not just anywhere at any given time the way she usually does. What would be the point? No, she researches this meticulously for just the right rendezvous point. After all, you do wanna spend the perfect first date, right? (Not that it's _supposed_ to be a date. Harley wants to get rid of her affections after all.)

As luck would have it, the president himself wants to award Wondy the medal of honor for her bravery and service to the country. There's gonna be a ceremony, a speech, the works. Harley can already imagine the crowds of thousands gathering in and around Capitol Hill. Protests are gonna be a given, since there's a lot of resentment about the official recognition of "the supers," as they're colloquially called. The psychiatrist in her could have a field day interviewing the participants.

What's more, protests can turn to riots, riots to lootin', and that's what Harley calls a party. (Although Harley's plan does not include her being a participant of that party. Rather, think of her as the hostess. And the bouncer. And the clean-up crew. All rolled up in one. Harley loves to multi-task, keeps her from getting bored.)

But for her to be the main attraction that day, she first has to clean the city of its criminal element. Not the established underground organizations, though; those she gets in touch with. They'll know about any newcomers such as herself looking to start trouble. They themselves are gonna wanna lay low while Wondy's close, or go about business as usual, maybe do some shady deals right under the cops' noses while they're busy looking elsewhere. 

Whatever they decide to do that week, the main thing is that they agree to let her loose in the city in exchange for some pest control. 

In a day, she breaks the fingers of one guy she finds with a full arsenal of military-grade machine guns in his hotel room, and burns those of another who is poring over blueprints and a complicated-looking device with multi-colored wires attached to it. She alerts the authorities to her lucky discoveries and lets them handle the rest.

Of course, Harley's unable to flush out _all_ the reprehensible elements that would threaten the city on this fair day. Because it would look like half the villains of the region and more from outside congregate in the area just to get on national TV. Or to spread a little mayhem, whichever works for them. Harley feels right at home, except that DC's a lot cleaner than Gotham. You can even breathe in a lungful without starting a coughing fit. _Yech!_

So then there's this: screams and suicide bombers. Chaos and caped crusaders. Or, well, not all of them wear capes, but definitely tights. Harley should have known they'd be standing by somewhere close. It's not fair. None of this was what she had in mind when she came here. But that doesn't mean she can't have a bit of fun while they're at it. She punches the molotov-hurtling rioters in the face and knocks them out before the police can start the water guns.

Innocent bystanders are trapped in the fray and that's something Harley promised herself would not happen if everything had gone according to how she'd laid it all out. But why would it? She knows how these do-gooders feel about people getting hurt, and Harley doesn't want her first date with Wondy to turn sour before they even crossed paths. 

No wait, wouldn't it rather help her predicament if Wondy disliked her? If she thought Harley was just another criminal beyond redemption?

You'd think so, but _nooo,_ Harley's treacherous heart protests the prospect of getting on Wondy's bad side. It wants her to prove that she can be good too, play by the rules, all that boring jazz, in a way it never would have done for B-man.

This better turn out in her favor, she thinks just as a bomb goes off a block or two over and more screams pierce her eardrums. She ducks in time with the people around her, as if that would help any if something big were falling down on them.

Panic spreads. Not one to succumb to it, Harley herds peaceful protesters off the streets and away from the action. That ain't nothing you wanna be around for, trust her.

Perhaps she oughta have followed her own advice and got her tush to some safer space where there's less rambo-ing going on, because the moment she takes her eyes off of the onlookers, there's another explosion. She's got just enough time to look up and see the building above her shed its wall, like it's tumbling toward her in slow motion.

Great, she thinks. That ain't how she imagined the day to end. Or her life, for that matter. All because she was trying to be a hero, make another hero proud of her. Three guesses as to what she ain't gonna attempt again in her next life. Providing there's gonna be one.

At least she's wearing clean underwear. Small mercies, right? Not that that'll matter much when she's squashed like a bug. Although bugs have one thing on her, with their protective casing and all. They might even have a higher chance of survival due to their smaller size.

Those are the thoughts that zip through Harley's crazy head as she's looking her demise in the eye. The ones she can share with a wider audience at least. You don't wanna know what else she's got going on in her attic. It ain't G-rated, she can tell you that much.

Then everything goes dark.

Okay, she thinks a moment later, she'd expected this to hurt a lot worse, but there's only a little throbbing in her lower extremities that translate to "you don't wanna stand on your own two feet for a while if you know what's good for you."

But where would she stand without a body? Can ghosts feel pain? Does she actually have to _walk_ as a disembodied being? That would be so disappointing.

Turns out she doesn't have to worry about any of that yet.

The darkness breaks and rubble rains down around her.

"Are you all right?" a voice startles her out of her musings.

It can't be.

Above her, Wonder Woman herself is smiling down at her, reassuring as ever, and Harley nearly has an aneurysm. Harley is acutely aware of the leg that's hooked suggestively around Wondy's hip, but it seems Wondy's too busy holding up that chunk of wall with her shield to notice. Or maybe that's something warriors like her don't take interest in. Harley's just another number on her tally sheet of rescued victims, after all.

Too bad that Harley's sworn to herself she'd never be a victim again.

"Peachy," she says with her best grin even as her heart is fluttering weakly. She reaches out to wrap a strand of Wondy's hair around her knuckle. It's as soft as she's imagined it to be. "I've always wanted to do that. So thanks for allowing me."

"Thank _you_ for saving these people." Wondy's smile is amused as she hooks her free arm around Harley and leaps away before the slab of concrete crashes to the ground in a cloud of dust.

"It was nothing," Harley says, heart beating like crazy and head cradled against Wondy's incredibly naked, incredibly _warm_ shoulders. Oh my god, and she smells so good. Harley's going to pass out from sheer overload but cannot allow herself to or else she'll think she dreamed up this encounter. Oh no, _is_ she dreaming it up? "It's what you do, right? Protect people who can't protect themselves, that sorta thing?"

Before she rejoins the action, Wondy's eyes crinkle and the edges of her lips quirk, as though she knows that ain't quite true for Harley but ain't gonna address it.

"Wait!" Harley calls after her, then falters when she's too late. "I never got to say thanks for saving me."

She could leave now. She could follow her knees' insistence on giving out and sink to the ground, while simultaneously letting sink in what just happened. But Harley has spent entirely too much time lately sighing over Wonder Woman.

Now it's time to chase her. They'll never be this close again and Harley needs to take the opportunity of thanking Wondy, or else she'll regret it forever.

So she ignores the scratches and bruises and what may or may not be a cracked rib and jumps back in, too. She wouldn't have been able to kick back at her hotel anyhow, the way her heart's bent on alternately melting into goo and clenching so hard she thinks she might be having a seizure. Fun times.

So much for getting rid of a celebrity crush. If anything, she must have now exacerbated it. There ain't any quelling her exuberant feelings. At least not yet, not for a while.

But she holds out hope.

Perhaps that is what compels her to ask Wondy out for drinks, later, once the streets are cleared and she can finally have her moment to express her gratitude. (By this time, it's warped more into a gratitude of having been allowed to meet her rather than having had her life saved, but Wondy doesn't need to know that, and it's kind of the same thing anyway, so it's not cheating.)

Perhaps her idea was this: Wondy would say no in the politest way possible and dash Harley's heart in the process, Harley would be disconsolate for a while but eventually get over it and then everything could go back to her normal every day crazy.

What she doesn't expect is for Wondy to accept her invitation.

Excuse her, what now?

Is this a trap? Does she know who Harley is? Has she figured out the plan that lured her here in the first place? Will she be waiting to arrest her for it? Recruit her back into the Suicide Squad? (While Harley misses her teammates, she'd rather catch up with them over drinks and a ball game, not in orange jumpsuits.)

No, Wondy is genuine in that she wants to connect with other crime fighters. Even if they only fight crime on occasion, almost by happenstance, to look good in front of the one they fancy. Not that _Harley_ belongs in that category, oh no. She's been cleaning the streets of scum (and lightening the purses of fat oligarchs) since she was skilled enough to swing her bat.

The rest, as they say, is history.

A history that extends into the present day, but which history apart from that long forgotten works any differently?

So here we are then, several weeks and as many rendezvous later, which have done absolutely zilch to help Harley ditch her deliriously distracting feelings for the amazon.

In fact, she's been mooning over Wondy – Diana now, Harley thinks with an internalized and eternal squeal – nonstop since they've been going out. She's also come to see her much clearer. Those images and interviews she's been trying to avoid but couldn't help herself devouring failed to show just how charming she actually is.

And they'd never have been able to fill her in to what an amazing lover she is. (Not that Harley hasn't been filling in those blanks herself, even if it had all been just wishful thinking. But now she gets to compare notes with her fantasies and let her tell you, the real deal wins out by miles. Hoo boy.)

Case in point: Harley must have just been reacquainted with the stars because that's how high she feels.

Won— _Diana_ is smirking up at her from between Harley's trembling thighs. 

"God," Harley breathes, letting her head fall back into the pillow, "don't _do_ that."

"Do what?" Diana asks, and Harley can hear the quirk in her voice.

"Smile like that! It kills me."

If this continues, she may have to do something drastic, even by her standards, like maybe gouge out her eyes, because she just _cannot_ withstand Diana's radiance.

Harley hauls her up, as best she can. The strength she exudes from every muscle in her body makes Harley so weak all over again. Harley twines her fingers around those luscious locks and cradles Diana's head to kiss her deeply.

Because even if she can still feel that smile curving against her lips, it's better than having to melt at the sight of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Little White Lie" by temposhark.
> 
> Rebloggable post [here](https://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/post/169460959115/dc-comics-wonder-womanharley-quinn-my-hero-t). If there are any another pairings/kinks/prompts you'd like to see, do let me know!


End file.
